A laugh bubbled up through his tears. “Oh, fuck me,” he murmured, laughing and crying at the same time. He looked at the test again, then at himself in the mirror. “I’m okay,” he managed, voice wobbling. He stood, wiped his cheeks, and opened the door. Everything would be alright.
He went through his morning routine in a daze, walking Beans, feeding Beans, petting Beans, feeding himself, searching for his keys. Then he drove to work. The school he taught at was across town, and traffic sucked.
Somehow, he made it to his classroom and through homeroom. His first class, though, was a little challenging.
He blinked at the whiteboard like it had personally betrayed him. “Okay,” he said slowly, marker hovering over the board. “So. Symbolism. In chapter… in chapter…” He glanced down at the book in his hand.
Several students helpfully chimed in at once.
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Fourteen, if you actually did the reading,” griped Alisha from the back.
Fernando squinted at the cover.The Outsiders. Right. He absolutely knew that. “Chapter seven,” he repeated with forced confidence, turning back to the board. He wrote a large, slightly slanted 7. Then he stared at it, hoping it would continue the lesson for him.
A baby. I’m having a baby.
The classroom hummed with middle school energy, desks squeaking, someone tapping a pencil like a woodpecker, and a crumpled paper ball arcing lazily toward the trash can and missing by a mile.
“Mr. Medina?” asked Alisha, hand raised but already talking. “Are we still doing the essay today?”
The word essay seemed to travel across the room in slow motion before colliding with his brain. “Essay,” he asked faintly. “Yes. No. I mean, eventually.” He rubbed his forehead, leaving behind a faint smear of dry-erase marker. “First, we’re discussing the fire scene.”
A hand shot up again. “Why did you write Chapter Seven if the fire is in Chapter Six?” asked Alisha.
Fernando slowly turned back to the board. The large 7 stared back at him, smug.
“Excellent question,” he said, nodding gravely. “That was a critical thinking exercise.”
His class did not believe him.
He erased the 7, then paused mid-swipe, staring at the half-erased number like it was a philosophical dilemma.I’m going to have a baby. Another living being that I’m responsible for.
For a full five seconds, no one spoke.
“Sir,” said Alisha, “are you okay?”
He blinked again, doing his best to gather his thoughts.
“I’m fantastic,” he said too brightly. “Thriving. Life is good.”
A few students laughed.
“Okay,” he said finally, closing the book with a soft thud. “Group discussion.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the room.
“Talk to your partner about what the fire symbolizes. Five minutes. Use textual evidence.” He pointed vaguely around the room. “And stay seated.”
The class erupted into conversation instantly.
Fernando leaned against his desk, breathing slowly. He watched as Alisha animatedly explained something with wild hand gestures while another student flipped pages frantically. A paper ball narrowly missed his shoulder.
Despite the fog in his brain, a small smile tugged at his mouth. They were engaged. Loud, chaotic, occasionally feral, but engaged.
Alisha waved at him from her desk. “You should drink coffee, Mr. Medina,” she advised.
